


Luxuria

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Scorpius Malfoy Presents the Seven Deadly Sins [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lust, Luxuria, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2956673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It will never be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luxuria

**Author's Note:**

> For Albus, our favorite boy in the band.

            _—Each of us is born with a box of matches inside of us but we cannot strike them all by ourselves._

 

Minutes bleed into hours that seep into days like a slow drip that is the hardest torture. By the time December has rained down upon you it feels as if you could very easily claw your own skin off with sheer will alone. In the darkness it is impossible to hide and you find that fact both terrifying and immeasurably ironic.

 

If anyone asked you would not be able to clearly explain how you’ve managed to drift through the last few weeks without completely falling apart. Your flat is cold and empty and littered with images of faces that haunt you even when you close your eyes.  Especially when you close your eyes. You are on a constant loop, a never-ending repeat of lifeless actions that make you feel more like an ouroboros than you care to admit. You feel wasted and weak and although you don’t even realize it, your clothes hang on you in the most unfettering ways. You are more like the zombies in those muggle horror films that you never manage to make it all the way through than you are a functioning member of society and although you tell yourself that you are beyond pathetic, you cannot find it in yourself to care.

 

When the door of your flat creaks open a fraction you glance up from your curled up post at the corner of the sofa, and when Albus himself steps inside you are so utterly frozen that you don’t even hear the soft click of the door as it closes behind him.

 

Your insides are a myriad of colors and emotions that all seem to switch on at exactly the same time. You gasp for breath as your blood pumps thickly in your veins, flooding your every surface with warmth and life that you haven’t felt for weeks. When he drops his bags and crosses the room you can hardly stand to look at him because his light is so white-hot that it burns your eyes. He is stricken with concern by the state of you and you are helpless to do anything more than shake silently and watch him as he closes the distance that remains between you.

 

His touch invokes tears in the corners of your eyes and his warmth washes over you like the sweetest honey. He is rapture and salvation and you can only curl your mouth into a watery smile that he seems to understand all too well. _You need to take care of yourself_ he says gently while brushing strands of limp blond hair out of your eyes. Your eyelids shutter beneath the weight of his touch and a soft sigh escapes past your lips and you know that everything will be all right now.

 

It is the softest touch that leads you to the bathroom and strips away your garments and when he guides you inside the shower you follow so closely that your two bodies could easily pass for one. You know how horrible you must look to his eyes and yet all you see in their brilliant emerald reflection is love and adoration. You cling to him like you are afraid this is all a dream and he does not object because he’s missed you too, even if he has the stage and the starlight to distract him. When the water runs cold you shiver in his embrace and he laughs sheepishly and twists off the spouts because he finds it just as easy as you do to lose track of life when you are together. 

 

In your bed you lie him back against his pillow that doesn’t smell like he does and you smile because you don’t have to be this person anymore now that he’s home. You map every inch of his body with lips and fingertips that are slow and methodical because you don’t want to miss a thing. When he kisses you it is as if your entire world is being sucked out through your open mouth and you are powerless to stop it so you go with it instead. Your insides twist to the point of breaking and your heart splinters into moist powder where it sits nestled in the cave of your chest. He is your sustenance and your lifeblood and his presence alone revitalizes you to the point that you are positively humming with life. He smells like stale coffee and a million screaming fans and it’s never tasted as good as it does at this moment.

 

Your tongue traverses his body so completely that you feel like you are lapping at his soul and every time he arches into your touch you die just a little bit more. This is about more than just the sex, although that too comes at a desperate pace and you grapple at one another like two lost explorers desperately hanging on by a thread. He is pliant and eager beneath your touch and when he comes with your name upon his lips you are no longer sure if you are living or dying. _Good to be home_ he says between ragged panted breaths and you can only nod your head violently and steal what little breath remains in him for yourself and your kiss.

 

It’s later when you are lying beside him still in the bed that the two of you share, so closely that nearly every part of you still touches him lest he get too far away. _I missed you_ is what you whisper in the darkness and when he smiles you hear it beyond the silence that sits all around you and it stills the frantic beat of your heart.

 

You cannot be certain how long you stay just like you are, wrapped up in him so totally that you can taste him on your tongue even when you are not kissing him. Your fingertips trace down the center of his chest and swirl around his navel and the way his skin reacts to your scant touch is mesmerizing. You know that there is no one in the entire universe than can make him feel like you do and you cannot help but wonder if he feels the aching void in your absence like you do in his. Of course you don’t ask him but you show him instead; with every soft caress and whispered adoration. You feel drunk on the sensation of him and although you have only just had him you are an insatiable beast with far too much lost time to make up for.

 

When he sits up you are instantly on edge because you are still not desensitized to this sort of thing and you doubt that you ever will be. Of course it’s not healthy, but love like this rarely is. He surprises you with a smile and the sweetest kiss, and when he rolls over and fits himself atop your body, the weight of him makes you feel complete. _I love you so much_ he says against your skin that is already feverish with want and when his teeth nip at the tender expanse of your throat it sets the tone for this round.

 

His bites become daring and brave and you urge him farther still because this is the right kind of pain; the kind of pain that you don’t mind living with. You paw at one another like wild animals and when he takes you firmly in his hand you arch up into his touch and beg him for more. This time it is _definitely_ about the sex and it is apparent in each hungry grunt that radiates between your lips that are never very far away from one another. He drops himself into your lap with an impaling thrust and even though this has always been mutual, he is the one with all of the control. You can barely see straight and your vision is quickly becoming murky around the edges and still you beg him for more because you want to feel it all because you are greedy and selfish, but also because your need for him is bordering on obsessive.

 

Your shared bedroom is stale with the smell of sweat and sex and the sheets are stained and you feel more alive than you have in weeks. Over the next three days you fuck like you are the last two people on earth and your rarely entertain clothing, except for when the takeaway is delivered to your door, and sometimes not even then. You live like a couple of hermits who hunger for solitude but this is anything but and still you cannot get enough of him. He gives you everything he has and then some and you take it all like you are starved and you know that anything that lies beyond the faded lines that divide you is probably nothing at all.

 

Eventually the outside begins to creep into the little world that the two of you have created and although you try your best to keep it out, still it presses on. Tea with your father and uncle Theo and a visit to Godric’s Hollow are both in order but the thought of breaking the spell that surrounds your flat like a protective bubble is a daunting one. When you finally step back into reality you feel like a vampire because you haven’t felt the sun or the air in so long that you’ve forgotten the sensation. Your clothing is itchy and your mind is constantly wandering back to the bed in that dingy flat and how long you must endure before you can return. 

 

When it’s just the two of you it’s so easy to live and flow. He tells you all about wrapping up tour and you listen to his prideful words and also to the soft beat of his heart that taps against his chest. When he leaves for the bathroom you roll over and press your face into his pillow and you smile because you realize that he has finally been here long enough to leave a trace of himself behind, and although you think that it might be enough for that silly feather pillow you know that it will _never_ be enough for you.

 

It will never be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote at the beginning of this work belongs to Laura Esquivel and is graciously borrowed.


End file.
